


lithostatic

by DeeOvertoun



Category: Masks: A New Generation (Roleplaying Game), Valor Academy (Web Series)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Violence against Children, adults bitching about their problems, it's gen but eventually leilani is going to interact with her husband and she does love him so, superhero society is super fucked up my friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23015164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeeOvertoun/pseuds/DeeOvertoun
Summary: In her dreams, she’s in the volcanoes, as Pele has ever been. The islands… and the unnatural one outside the city, the one beginning to collapse in on itself as the surrounding land reasserts itself, the one that smolders where, just a few days ago, Pandora’s house stood.Leilani Kahananui is a long way from her daughter and a short way from a breakdown after the events of Episode 23a. SPOILERS UP TO THAT POINT.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	lithostatic

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title: Pele Wants To Get Off Pandora's Wild Ride

Leilani has gotten used to a certain sort of time dilation. It comes with having so deep a connection to the divine, to something so unfathomably ancient, so vast. Sometime she’s been alive for a thousand years; having Nalani, taking the mantle, marrying Kai, all of the deepest strata of her heart, all buried under the millennia. And sometimes she has just been born, a flicker of time compared to the eternity of stone and fire. Molten or set in place, though, the strata remain, unchangeable, untouchable. Her baby, her mantle, her husband.

Every night, when she dreams, she’s Kilauea, resplendent and afire, awing the tourists and the scientists that come to worship at the edge of her flows, even if they don’t know it. She’s Lo’ihi, warming the abyss, climbing for the surface of the sea that’s waiting for her kiss. She’s Mauna Loa, storing fire in her belly, standing sentinel over an island that is all at once barren, verdant, unpeopled, teeming.

When she wakes up, she’s in Halcyon City, and there is always someone who just cannot help but endanger civilians.

People say her superpower is the heat, the flight, the strength. The stone and fire. But that’s their lack of understanding. What makes her dangerous is that she has been doing that, every single night and day, sling-shotting between the timeless and the minute, without losing her mind.

But it only applies to that one matter. Beyond that, she’s just as susceptible to stress as anyone else. 

How can her hair be coming out like this? Long strands of it, clinging to her fingers, turning brittle and yellow as the fire in it dies. The bags under her eyes are becoming a concern, considering the heat of her melts most makeup and boils away most setting sprays. She can’t hide this, the negative impact it’s having. She hid everything else, but…

In her dreams, she’s in the volcanoes, as Pele has ever been. The islands… and the unnatural one outside the city, the one beginning to collapse in on itself as the surrounding land reasserts itself, the one that smolders where, just a few days ago, Pandora’s house stood.

Compulsively, she runs her hand through her hair, and glares at the dislodged strands. How dare.

Leilani could fly the route to work in her sleep, practically has a couple of times when the job ran hard. People wave to her as she passes, a streak of fire in the sky. Some of them cheer, some of them wish her good luck, some take pictures. Usually it would make her happier, but there’s a chunk of ice in her throat that just will not melt. 

It’s been lodged there ever since she had to sit there while Pandora fucking _smiled_ at her. 

Years ago, Leilani had seen something of her grandmother in that smile, and Pele spoke out in favor of rehabilitation. She’d vomit, if she thought it would make it past the ice. Thinking that Tutu had anything in common with—Leilani knows it was part of the game, knows that it’s probably obvious that she would have a sentimental attachment to the matronly. It was an easy weakness and the manipulative bitch seized the opportunity. It’s not her fault.

She doesn’t really believe that, not for a second, but it’s what Imitar told her, over and over again.

“It’s not your fault,” he said, standing by the crater, after they talked to the media people, after they talked to the mayor and the rest of the Paragons. “It’s not your fault, Leilani.”

Leilani wonders if he believes that, or if that was just Francisco trying to make his friend feel better, not Imitar’s actual assessment of the situation.

Her mind keeps jerking back to her feet on the doormat, that motherly gray face brightening at the sight of her. How could she smile at her? How could lying come so naturally to her, to look Pele, to look them all, and smile—how could she have all those lives, those children’s lives, on her hands and still have the _gall_ —

She has to circle the building before she can land. Her hands and feet are red hot, and she really doesn’t want the mayor to scold her for damaging the courtyard. Again.

Imitar and Spelljammer sit in front of the big screen, comparing something on their tablets to the map pulled up on it. Some distance away, Copycat is practicing his tumbles. He’s about to pull off another one when he catches sight of Leilani approaching. One ankle locks and the other goes rubbery, and instead of the perfect tumbles from before, Leilani watches this little boy eat tile with a tiny “ow!”

He sits right back up, smiles at her, and waves. He’s about the same age as Nalani, and has the same endearingly gappy teeth, the same bobble head and same wide, bright eyes. There’s a neat line of stitches across his freshly broken nose, which is oozing blood from one nostril from the fall. His costume has been hastily modified to have a turtleneck, so she can’t quite tell if the bandages have been removed.

“Hi, Miss Lei—um, Pele, hi, Pele!” he greets. “I-I’m gonna work hard today, what about you?”

“I always work hard, Copycat.” She checks her hand for heat, and, finding it just toasty instead of scorching, reaches down to ruffles his hair. “Why don’t you go get some tissue for your nose?”

“Yes ma’am!” He jumps to his feet with easy grace and heads off at a sprint. As he turns the corner, there’s a muffled thump, and a muttered “aw jeez.”

She worries about that boy. He’s got the exact same amount of physical self-preservation instinct as his father—zero—and, when he’s not on the job, lives a slapstick routine. 

There are no pressing threats today, so the Paragons go their own ways, to handle what most needs them. Imitar and Spelljammer go off to bust a meta smuggling operation for the feds, Copycat tagging along to make sure nobody sneaks out; Live Dynamite goes out to find trouble on the streets, knowing that trouble will most likely find him; Technobabble and her new slew of students and assistants go on their own patrol; the Rolling Stone goes to oversee a couple of probationary members on a test mission. As for her, nearly as soon as the echoes of the other Paragons have died away, an alarm on the big screen blares.

The big screen pulls up a live feed of an unusually large isopod—about three hundred times larger than usual, if she had to hazard a guess—tearing through a parking lot, gnashing cars like popcorn with its wicked black mouthparts. There’s already a few kids on the scene, but the thing’s exoskeleton deflects their blows and beams without so much as a mark. It doesn’t even seem to notice them.

It’s bad manners to welcome a crisis, but Leilani is grateful even so. The quiet was starting to make her think of the walk up to the door again, and the quiet of the sitting room before Pandora began to speak…

She’s letting this consume her, she knows she is, and it is _insane_ to her that it’s gotten this bad. She’s _never_ gotten this bent out of shape for any other criminal, and in the end, that’s what Pandora was. Another criminal that she was duty-bound to incapacitate. This is embarrassing. She’s a grown woman.

She doesn’t feel like a grown woman. She feels like she did sitting the chair listening to Pandora cheerfully confess. Like a little girl having a nightmare. Like a stupid child being taught a harsh lesson.

There’s never a lack of things to do in Halcyon City, so she’s able to spend most of her day occupied. She reopens an injury on her stomach, but her lava hides the blood, and the pain is fortifying. This is the sort of pain she can handle, that she’s never once minded handling. The body, human or divine, was made to heal. And even wincing from a gash that opened her from navel to breast, there is nothing, nothing, that can stop her. 

Rabid Dog tried to rob a museum, though considering Rabid Dog’s about as intelligent as her namesake, Leilani isn’t sure what she was hoping to accomplish. It was a good fight at least. Rabid Dog can’t feel pain and hits like a freight train, and she could smell the blood seeping into the lava, so she knew Leilani was hurt. Most of the time, when it comes to hand-to-hand—most of the time, it doesn’t come to hand-to-hand. In a museum full of priceless exhibits, most of which are hideously flammable? There was never a choice. Rabid Dog’s off to jail, _again_ , and Leilani returns to headquarters to log her activities, limping and smiling at the same time.

Copycat is sitting on the sofa when she gets into the break room, eating a mango with solemn precision over a plate balanced on his skinned knees.

“Hi, Mis… dangit. Hi, Pele!” He holds up one of the mango slices and the knife he’s using to peel it. “My dad gave me this for working hard!”

“That’s a big mango.”

He nods, and takes another small bite.

“I’m gonna make it last,” he informs her. “It’s mine, so I can do that.”

“Mm-hm.” It’s a weird thing for a kid his age to say, but then, Copycat is a weird kid. Everyone that knew him as a kid says Imitar was the same, but in Spanish, so it’s probably a matter of proximity. 

While he cuts another slice from around the core, Pele digs through the cabinet for the acetaminophen with codeine she knows is shoved to the back. She takes two dry, and leans back against the counter, glancing at the door. She thought Imitar might just be in the bathroom or something, and would be right back with his son in a second, but…

“Where’s your dad at, Copycat?”

Copycat freezes, looks scared then looks away.

“Um, he’s on the roof. He, uh, he said, um, he said he doesn’t wanna be bothered.” Copycat blanches like he said something wrong, and continues, “b-but he’d make an exception for you, Pele!”

“I know. Can you do me a favor?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Please be careful with that knife.” 

He’s such a nervous kid, and she’s worried that the slapstick routine is about to take a turn toward gallows humor. Imitar would be devastated if his son lost a finger to something like ‘slippery mango hands.’ He still isn’t entirely over Copycat’s last major injury, whatever he says. Copycat pauses, considers where he’s at, and gets up to go eat at the counter, where at least there’s more stability. Leilani takes another second to make sure he’s situated, then heads up for the roof access. It’s an elevator ride, then three flights of stairs, but it gives her time to think.

She’s pretty sure she knows what’s going on. She and Imitar have known each other for a while now. This… if she’s right, this isn’t really an Imitar problem.

Francisco sits on the edge of the roof, legs dangling over the side, his back to her as he looks out over the famous Halcyon City skyline. His suit is open and the upper part peeled down, the arms tied around his waist and his cape detached and folded up neatly beneath him. His undershirt is crumpled from the day’s work, stained with sweat. And blood, too, though not a lot. The operation went well, then.

Like Copycat, he’s got a mango on a plate, though his has already been sliced and peeled. He must not care about making it last.

Leilani sits down next to him, looks down because she doesn’t have to be scared to fall. Stories and stories below, the courtyard that’s constantly needing to be repaired, the flags and fountain, the plaques dedicated to the Paragons that have come before.

Francisco kicks his feet over it all, though he stops once he realizes Leilani is watching.

“What’s the matter, Francisco?” she asks.

“Oh, just looking at my city,” he says, too cheerfully, too quickly. He also shoves a mango slice in his mouth like that trick fools anyone older than his son.

How can he possibly be this bad at lying? He handled the thing… Leilani thinks about calling him on it. But even without her gaze on him, he’s squirming. He’ll spill soon enough.

“Ah, God, it’s ridiculous, Pele. It has Ethan worried, too. But… well, you know today is me and Carla’s anniversary. Ex-anniversary?”

She nods to herself. She’d figured as much.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to let that bother you,” she says.

“I’m not bothered!” The quickness is still there, but the cheerfulness bleeds away and the bitterness peeks out. “I’m not. I mean, I wasn’t planning on it. I’ve got more important things to be bothered about.”

Unconsciously, his fingers dance over the front of his throat, tapping against his Adam’s apple a little too frantically. She knew he wasn’t over it.

Francisco heaves a sigh, sets aside his mango. He leans back on both hands and brings his feet back up to the top of the roof. They start tapping, but now that he’s distracted by whatever’s got him hiding up here, he doesn’t bother stopping them. He squints at the sky, like he’s looking for stars past the smog and the light pollution. Leilani makes herself ignore how wet his eyes are getting. Acknowledging it would be unkind.

“I forgot to erase the reminder from my phone. Like an idiot. I completely forgot. So after the operation, I checked my notification and there it was. ‘Call the florist.’ Like every other year. I forgot.”

That sounds about right. Carla was able to boast to other superhero spouses that, whatever other flaws Imitar had as a husband, at least he never forgot their anniversary. That’s not true. He never remembered their anniversary. His phone did. But that got flowers ordered every year just the same as actually remembering it, and if she never knew otherwise, it’d never have to hurt her. 

At least Imitar bothered to give himself a reminder. Live Dynamite, for instance, forgets important dates two times out of three, because the reminder would be admitting he can’t remember. Imitar’s about as loathe to admit he’s wrong as Dynamite, but Carla is—was—important enough for him to try. It counts for something. It has to, or what else even is there? 

Kai never forgets _their_ anniversary, but she can count the number of times he’s suffered severe head trauma on one hand. To do that for Imitar or Dynamite, she’d have to only count the instances in the past six months.

“I mean, that’d be fine, I could deal with that,” Francisco continues, in a way that makes it plain he could not. “But now Ethan’s upset. I told him it wasn’t his fault Carla divorced me. It’s hers. You know how kids are, though.”

“Poor thing. It must be really hard for him. Having his mother leave him like that.”

Francisco’s feet fall out of rhythm for a second, but he scoffs and keeps on tapping.

“ _Ethan_ isn’t the one who packed her godda—her bags and walked out,” he snaps. 

There’s something in her that wants to warn him to watch his tone, but it’s better he gets a little honesty out here, when it’s just Francisco and Leilani, than have the mask slip when he’s Imitar. That kind of pressure building up, it’s not good for people, especially not for Francisco, who can get a little high-strung, or a little melancholy, depending.

Leilani knows a lot about pressure. A _lot_ about pressure. Her hand twitches with the desire to go through her hair.

Francisco sits back up and crams another mango slice in his mouth, chewing savagely. As he swallows, he grabs the next slice, far too hard, smashing it to pulp. The juice drips between his fingers and pools on the plate, uncomfortably like blood. Then he blinks, and looks at his hand like he’s seeing it and the mess he’s made for the first time. He sighs, again, heavier than the first.

“Whoever said life is one thing after another didn’t know what they were talking about,” he starts.

“The damn things overlap,” Leilani finishes.

He hands her the plate. Leilani isn’t really a mango person, but she takes a slice—obviously not the one he smashed—and eats it anyway. Acetaminophen and codeine on an empty stomach probably isn’t the healthiest thing in the world.

“You look tired,” he tells her. “You know?”

“I _am_ tired. …I… I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“…about my ex-wife?” he asks, incredulous.

She elbows him, realizes as he wheezes that she wasn’t careful enough with her strength. He drinks a lot of milk. His ribs should be fine.

“About _Pandora_ , Francisco.”

“Ah, yes, that, uh, that makes a lot more sense.”

They both spend a moment looking at the skyline. At the city. At the place that is so much more than a place, full of the millions and millions of little lives that are so enormous. I did it for them, Leilani thinks, I did it to protect them. To avenge them. It isn’t making her feel any better. Why isn’t it making her feel better? All the justice in the world, and she still feels… betrayed, and pitiful for it.

Francisco nudges the plate at her again, so she takes another slice. Eating it gives her a chance to put her words together.

“I wasn’t wrong,” she says, firmly, refusing to phrase it as a question.

“I’m not going to say I enjoyed organizing a cover-up on such short notice. But nobody could ever fault your motivations. Pandora got what she deserved. Reap what you sow, and what she sowed… well, we could go see the ruins if you’re still feeling bad for some reason.” 

He swallows. Nobody likes asking this question, not in the life. Leilani doesn’t want to hear it, either, but there it is, boiling in his throat, ready to erupt.

“Are you going to be okay, Leilani?”

The most loaded question in the entire industry. If Technobabble or Spelljammer had asked her, she’d have scolded them. If Dynamite had asked, she’d probably snap, since there’s no way in Hell he would ask it without the subtext everyone fears the most. If you aren’t going to be okay, get out of the way, because the city needs people who are okay. If you aren’t okay, to the point that other people are seeing it, then you’re putting the entire operation at risk. If you aren’t okay, how can people believe that they will be?

She gave Francisco his little bit of honesty. She’ll take hers now.

“I know I’ll be fine, but I damn sure don’t feel like it.”

It’s obvious he’s weighing his next words carefully. Leilani tries not to get angry with him before he’s even said anything, but if he’s sitting there and fussing over her reaction, there’s no way they’re going to be good.

“Maybe you should…” She grits her teeth, already dreading the words ‘take a break.’ “…maybe you should fly Kai and Nalani in from the islands for a little bit.”

It’s not very often that she’s knocked off balance. Even rarer that Francisco manages to be the one who does it. He’s very predictable.

“Fly them—up here? I’ve… I haven’t done that since I moved here,” she says.

The security details alone are gonna be a nightmare to work out. A private jet, an airport outside the city proper, a car… if someone were to find out her little girl was coming, there’s no way they wouldn’t leap at the chance to hurt her. Leilani has precious few weaknesses, and more enemies than she’s bothered to count. Once they’re here, it’ll be a little easier to keep a handle on things, but the exit trip…

These are the practical concerns, the things Pele the hero has to be concerned about. Leilani doesn’t care if she has to walk across the Pacific to go get them herself. Now that Francisco has put the idea in her head, she feels their absence like a physical ache, the way she usually is able to force away. She really is in a bad way, isn’t she? All of her emotional fortitude boiled off.

“Maybe so,” she murmurs.

“You, uh, you did say you’d like Nalani to meet Ethan, as well,” Francisco says, nervously, like reminding her is somehow in bad taste. “I think that’s a good idea too. He… he doesn’t really know any kids his age. Live Dynamite won’t bring his son around, when he remembers he even has one… and one day, they’re gonna be colleagues! So the two of them meeting now and knowing each other as kids, it’ll be good for them later on.”

As though he needs to write a persuasive speech to get her to want to see her baby. Still, he’s right. She and Francisco get along well these days, but it was awkward at first, having to interact outside the masks. Nalani having at least one member of her team that she knows as a person first, the mask second, that’ll be good for her. Their professional relationship is a secondary concern, but he’s right about that, too.

“Once I’m done with today’s logs, I’ll call Kai and start making the arrangements,” she declares.

Francisco nods, then freezes, smile dead on his face.

“Oh noooooo…. I forgot about the logs! And I’ve only got a little bit before we’ve got to go back out again!”

He jumps up, and the plate flies out of his lap and over the edge of the roof.

“ _Mierda_ —”

He drops off the edge too, leaving nothing but his cape, still neatly folded. Leilani figures he needs no further input from her, and would probably prefer she not be there to see him come back in his humiliation. She heads back for the roof access door.

Leilani’s reports are never the best—Technobabble’s the best on the team, for certain, but then she’s gotten a lot of practice writing papers, with all her doctorates—but tonight they’re especially perfunctory. Let’s see, in Hawaii, it’s… ten at night. Nalani will be asleep, but there’s a chance Kai is still awake. He’s as bad about all-nighters as she is. She could wait until tomorrow morning…

The thought hits her brain like a chunk of ice and steams. No, that’s not going to happen. Tonight, it’s going to be tonight. Besides, she should probably get his opinion before she starts planning a trans-oceanic flight and a security detail that’s bound to be expensive and stressful for everyone involved. He may not think it’s worth the risk.

The flight home is over before it even seems to begin. The front door slamming echoes through the penthouse, huge and empty with only her in it. She dissipates her lava armor, flinches as cold air hits her injury. Before she can do anything, she needs to get that seen to.

Liquid bandage actually hurts way, way worse than any injury Leilani’s ever sustained. Literally any other injury. She has to bite her shirt to keep from shouting, and her hands shake, getting the fluid everywhere. But by the end of it, the cut’s closed, and that’s what matters, right?

Finally, _finally,_ she can call Kai. Every ring of the phone scrapes across her ears, an eternity even for someone who knows what eternity feels like. He must have been asleep after all.

“Leilani…?” he finally answers, voice thick with sleep. 

She closes her eyes, makes that voice the only thing in her world.

“Hey. I—I’d like to see you and Nalani. I need to see you and Nalani. What do you think about coming to Halcyon City for a few days?”

He groans, and the springs on his—on their bed squeal as he pushes himself up. She can envision it perfectly, him dragging his palm down his face, the tattoos on the back of his hand, the spray of his hair wild around his head from sleeping. Even as rarely as she gets to see it, the memory is clear.

“It’s sudden,” he says. “What’s the matter?”

Her instinct is to tell him nothing, of course nothing’s wrong, as she would any other civilian.

“I…”

“I see.” Yeah, of course he does. Even across the ocean. His mental image of her, she hopes, is as clear as hers of him. “It’s been a while since I saw the city! And you know Nalani always wants to see you …this is gonna be a huge kine thing, isn’t it?”

“I’ll handle it. You don’t have to worry.”

“That’s a very superhero thing to say. Of course I worry. Especially when you call in the middle of the night!”

“In my defense—in my defense, springing an entire planned trip on you would probably worry you a lot more.”

They both laugh, but it fades away too fast, both of them trying to keep it going too long. Then there’s a long pause while both of them try not to interrupt the other. It makes the ice in her throat even colder, even more jagged. They didn’t used to have this problem.

“Just keep me posted on when I need to get to the airport. It’s gonna be flying, right? Ocean travel is totally off the table with both Riptide and Papa Kolea at large,” Kai says. Those would be concerning to him even if his wife weren’t a superhero. Papa Kolea is always wrecking any event that takes place on the water, so his comings and goings are something organizers have to watch out for.

“Yeah. Private jet, security detail, off-the-books flight—wait, I said I’d worry about the details!”

“Aw, Leilani, it’s impulse! I could get it all put together if you like, you know. Then you could focus on your job…”

“I want to do it,” she insists. “It’ll be my treat. All you and Nalani have to do is show up.”

“Still…”

“Please.”

He wants to argue. Of course he does. But after a moment, he says, “well, when you put it that way, there’s no saying no, huh?”

“You could try, but I think you’re more tired than I am.”

“Yeah, way too tired to win a fight with you!”

They say their normal too-long, too-short goodbyes, their back-and-forth ‘I love you’s that are over too soon. Then he’s gone, he’s hung up, and it’s just her, sitting in silence, alone. Alone, but not for long. She’d like to credit that knowledge to why she passes out and sleep like a rock. It’s probably the codeine.

In her dreams, she’s in the islands again. Her little girl sleeps on her back, safe on the ground her mother created for her, long before human beings ever breathed their first. Of course, she can’t tell where. She can’t even think to search. To Kilauea, to Lo’ihi, to Muana Loa, all there is is the fire, and the pressure, and the wait. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey keep in mind that what Leilani believes is what she believes, and isn't necessarily true or the complete picture.


End file.
